


lonely is all we are (lovely so far)

by beardsley



Category: DCU (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 06:35:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/858985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beardsley/pseuds/beardsley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>It's summer and Sharon hates Gotham</i>. (Written for <a href="http://troublesteady.dreamwidth.org/2013/06/16/marvel-femslash-prompt-fest-1.html?thread=418149">this prompt</a> on the Marvel Femslash Prompt Fest.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	lonely is all we are (lovely so far)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from TV on the Radio.

It's summer and Sharon hates Gotham and the whole dark haunted atmosphere it has got going, from the antique lamp posts to the gargoyles. This was supposed to be her week off, and as soon as she's back in New York she swears to god she will murder Sam dead for recommending this damn city as a perfect place to wind down after a tough mission.

Wind down, Jesus, like that's ever going to happen when Sharon has to look over her shoulder every ten minutes (she checks crime rates online and is surprised not at all to discover that Gotham is about as friendly as a shark tank lit on fire) and she wishes she'd taken more than just a gun; she feels vulnerable and naked, but mostly she feels stupid for listening to unsolicited advice. Best friend or no, Sam was very obviously having her on and Sharon can't believe she fell for it.

On night three she shrugs into jeans and a leather jacket that, if she's lucky, won't get her shot or stabbed in the street. Instead of a gun she tapes a butterfly knife to the inside of her left calf. The weight of it is almost comforting.

She picks the club at random: all she wants is noise and distraction and maybe an easy lay if she plays her cards right. The dull, reverberating roar of music catches her attention two blocks away and she drifts in the right direction like a pathetic, borderline suicidal moth.

It's worth it, though. She doesn't get anything to drink (like hell she's going to get herself roofied in this godforsaken city, like _hell_ ) and she avoids the several clouds of pot smoke — training might have given her immunity to marijuana, but Sharon would rather not test the limits of her system — and she ends up on the dance floor.

She ends up on the dance floor stiff as a board, flinching each time someone presses up against her or brushes past her and it happens all the time; the place is crowded like a damn anthill, and the thought makes Sharon's arms itch. She's breathing a little hard and cursing herself inwardly all the while. Clubs and people like her don't mix, they _shouldn't_ mix, not when some asshole groping her (deliberately or not) is enough to make Sharon start bending down to reach for her knife. It was a terrible idea.

All of it is a terrible idea and with a sudden stab of something ugly and knotted in the pit of her stomach Sharon misses New York and SHIELD and her crappy SHIELD-issue flat, and in the same breath hates New York and SHIELD for turning her into a perfect operative but a broken fucking human being.

The flash of red hair in her peripheral vision makes her tense up. If Black Widow is here — if the powers that be are spying on Sharon when she's on leave —

But then details register and the woman turns and she doesn't look like Black Widow at all, except her hair being a similar shade of red. She's pale and tall and too fit to really be a civilian: her arms are all lean muscle and the loose shirt clinging to her by a thread does nothing to hide the strong line of her back. She looks like a soldier; she looks like another operative, but the odds of that are minuscule — aren't they?

The woman looks at Sharon, and gives her an open and unashamed once-over. She's coming over before Sharon even has some kind of excuse for staring at her.

'I'm Kate, and you look lost,' she yells, barely audible over the throb of music all around them.

Sharon shrugs. 'New in town.'

Kate gives her a predatory grin. 'Plan to stay long?'

'Not if I can help it,' says Sharon, raising an eyebrow.

Kate barks out a laugh, and then she's got one arm around Sharon's waist and pulling her close. Sharon tries to stay calm, even as she has to fight the instinct to grab Kate's hand and twist it behind her back — manhandling, womanhandling, Sharon doesn't take well to either.

But the danger in Kate's eyes is the kind Sharon has been looking for, not the kind that asks for violence. It takes some time before she lets herself relax, but when she finally does — it's good. It's better than good, a warm eager body pressed against her and moving with her and the music guiding them both to touch and to feel and to not think, which is all Sharon needs. Touch and feel and taste, when Kate unceremoniously cups her face in both hands and kisses her. Her lipstick tastes expensive and Sharon is painfully aware that she's not wearing any, but it doesn't seem to be an issue.

She knows her lips must look bruised red when Kate pulls back, because Kate's eyes are wide and dark and she leans in to say right in Sharon's ear, 'I want to take you home.'

It's the quickest and easiest hookup in Sharon's life. There has to be a catch, but — but she can take care of herself. That's the point of winding down and not thinking for just a goddamn second.

She lets Kate take her home and she lets Kate push her down on a bed, and she lets Kate fuck her first with her fingers and then with her mouth. She lets Kate rut helplessly against her thigh, until they're both too hot to do anything but keep going. Sharon kisses her way down Kate's stomach and licks her way inside her and she's missed this; doing this with anyone at SHIELD wouldn't be worth the fraternisation charges and Sharon won't risk her service record and her name (since it's not just her name, it has a history) for a quick fuck.

This isn't quick, though. This is slow and torturous, sweat rolling down Sharon's back as Kate slips a fourth finger in and then her thumb until Sharon can feel herself clenching around Kate's wrist. When Sharon yells this time it's not to be heard.

She loses count of how many times Kate takes her apart. Her skin is clammy and her thighs are shaking and Kate's hair is damp at the temples and both of them are breathing hard like a pair of marathon runners. Sharon forgets about the knife that got tangled in her jeans when she was stripping out of them, and about the GPS receiver in her boot. She doesn't think.

She leaves while it's still dark outside, the clothes on her back fitting ill and smelling like an ashtray.

She takes the 10:20am train to New York, and smiles all the way home.

~

It's winter and a vigilante gets on SHIELD's radar.

Daisy slides a thick manila folder across her desk and Sharon picks it up. There are guns strapped to both her thighs and two knives crossed at her back and garrotte wire in her wrist watch.

There are surveillance photos in the file, and the flash of bright red hair makes Sharon smile.


End file.
